


these games have to be set up somehow

by Chains_and_Pasta



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Gen, request, saw v
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 20:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13015449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chains_and_Pasta/pseuds/Chains_and_Pasta
Summary: trades still open





	these games have to be set up somehow

His alarm blared, jolting him awake for the fifth time that week. It was too early,  _ way  _ too early. 2:45, to be exact. Mark rolled out of bed, fixing his tie and pulling on a suit jacket that he had strewn across the chair three hours prior. He had no reason to be up this early, except, he thought, rubbing his temple, this stupid game. John and Amanda had already handled most of everything they were going to, and Lawrence never showed up for this kind of stuff. He would have been mad, but honestly he preferred working alone, just not this early in the morning. 

He managed to leave the house in under fifteen minutes, a record, and was already heading to the new game site, and under-ground catacomb three miles outside of the city. It would have been a great choice, except for the half-mile walk between the closest diner he could dump his car, and the entrance to the cave, but he didn’t didn’t have any say in it, plus, he could get breakfast after he was done. Assuming he didn’t reek of machine oil and stale blood. 

He finally made it all the way to the entry site, carrying two full duffle bags of tools and other contraband that had been left in his car the night before. Both of them weighed a ton each, and carrying them all the way there made his job all that much worse. He pushed the metal door open, one of John’s designs that stood out from the worn stone around it. The stairs down, however, were the same one’s that had been there for years, everytime Mark went down them he felt like the would break from the weight. But somehow, they didn’t. He walked through the maze of poorly-lit tunnels, glad to be in the erie solitude of the underground rather than walking alongside the road, even if it meant he could barely see. He found another metal door, another one of John’s, and walked through it into the room beyond. 

This, he was told, was the first test. Rows of blades lined the wall, along with collars and chains, complimented by glass boxes at the other end of the room. The sides of one of the boxes had a small gap between the metal, and needed to be welded back together for no other reason than John wanting to keep his flawless reputation. There was also a blade that had been broken a week ago that had to be replaced. This one was Mark’s fault however, getting frustrated with one of the chains and gears he slammed the drill down on top of it and cracked it. Again, not a huge problem, but he wasn’t going to argue. 

He started with the blade, unscrewing it from the wall, power drill screeching the entire time from the rusty metal. The sound was fucking unbearable, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. He replaced it with a new one, throwing the old one in his bag for John to repurpose somehow. 

After that was done, he welded the box back, admit a bit begrudgingly at the useless task. He moved onto the next room, one full of tunnels and glass jars hanging from the ceiling. There was nothing to do there; all the jars had been filled and hung up weeks ago, and all the explosives were already in the corners, so he moved on.  

This room was truly one of the most dangerous, on his opinion. How John had found a generator that powerful he had no idea, but it wasn’t his problem. They already knew the electricity ran fine, he just had to fill the bathtub with water and then he’d be done. There was running water back where he had come from, or so he was told. He grabbed the empty containers he had brought and trekked back through all the previous rooms and tunnels before them. There was a sink in one of the openings that looked like it hadn't been used in decades. He turned it on, putting the bucket underneath, and a spray of water came shooting out. It smelled of rust and had the same color, probably from the decaying pipes. Mark brought it back, pouring it into the tub before leaving to get more. He worked diligently, finishing quickly. 

The last room was also pretty much finished, he just had to make sure the blades were working correctly. And, of course, they were. The jar was already suspended below them, complete with a bobber they found on the street that added to the overall aesthetic of it. Mark threw the tools back in his bag, John would be around later to work on the cameras and finish everything else. And even though it wouldn’t be used for several months, the place looked like a perfect death trap, and of course it was, he had helped build it, after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> trades still open


End file.
